Optimus Gets Around
by ElitasLove
Summary: Optimus Prime suddenly finds himself free from Elita and available. But its been thousands of years since he tried dating. Can he remember? Will he survive? How will the femmes and the other Autobots handle a single Prime? And which femme will be first?


Author's Notes: I got this wild idea while reading other fics and realizing Prime rarely gets to be a true femme magnet other than either the wise experienced teacher to young inexperienced femmes or trying to start a relationship to replace the loss of his beloved Elita. Then this tan spotted plot bunny hopped in and wallah! Instant fic idea. I will be updating my other fics and adding a new one or two. I did try placing this under the cartoon category here on FF but that part of the site is down. I loaded it under TF movies for now to get it posted and will transfer once the site is fixed. Based loosely on the 1980's cartoon G1 episode "The search for Alpha Trion."

For an adult Optimus Elita faithful only read my fic "Elita's wishes." For a hot smexi Optimus grabbing any and all femmes to his berth with unexpected results and plot twists read this. And the rating may shift to "M for Mature" in later chapters but not yet. Rated "T" for suggestive discussions and pairings. Please review.

**CHAPTER ONE **

**YOU DID WHAT?**

**CYBERTRON**

**UNDERGROUND FEMME BASE OF OPERATIONS**

The ancient Prime stared at his sparkmate, his massive red and blue armor bearing faint char marks from the fight to clear the spacebridge. Still under Decepticon control, the only safe passage from earth to Cybertron made by their weapons. Beyond the door, Ironhide waited in the hallway with Silverbolt, assisting in repairs on his team. His processor shied away from the cries of pain and missing armor sacrificed to reach the femmes before Shockwave could destroy them. His entire being focused on finding and saving them. Now the faint line of processing running through Optimus systems was that he would never be able to explain to Ratchet why his jaw gear needed replacing from dropping down so many times when they returned to earth. "Fifteen?" he echoed numbly. "You sparked with fifteen different mechs while I was gone?"

"No, I said I carried fifteen sparklings. Not that many considering how long you were gone. The number of mechs is irrelevant," the femme admitted quietly, the warmth of her faceplates evident as she turned half away. Her intact pink and white armor smoothed his deepest fears as her words rattled his spark. The small metal room she used as a working office beginning to resemble a cell with its bare walls and lack of external sounds. Even their energon cubes sitting on the desk between them, far smaller and weaker than the earth made energon an indicator of how far away Cybertron was. "Really Optimus? What did you expect me to do? You leave in the Ark on your grand mission to search out new energon sources. First day out an attack occurs and the path disappears into an asteroid field. Searchers find debris and traces of ion cannon fire and no ships. Not the Ark, not the Nemesis or even an escape pod and we wait. No sparkless remains, no communications and every search returns with less than the one before. I waited over three thousand years to consider taking another to my berth," her bright blue optics burned into his.

"Three thousand," he echoed, the solidity of the chair under him nearly non-existent.

"Before I began considering another partner let alone sparklings. The first sparkling an unplanned accident but truly welcomed. Our first hope amid the ruins. Realize our situation," Elita stated, courting across her metal fingers. The first finger on her right hand dipped down. "Our Prime, my sparkmate disappeared with our greatest enemy. How and why unknown." Two more fingers folded down, counting off. "The best and brightest of the war teams gone. The last ships for scouting and retrieval gone. Energon depleting, sparks lost on both sides, and still no contact from you as the vorns passed. Then a sparkling happens. Do you know how many mechs wanted to hold him? My little Hot Rod? To lay down their lives to keep him safe and fed with fresh energon? We had a purpose again."

"I never processed it that way," he admitted.

"We had nothing in our future but death and war and the sparklings brought life. Kup and I produced Hot Rod then Arcee. Kup took command of the scout teams on the far side of the planet near Praxus and in his absence; I selected two other partners, at separate times of course. Mechs Scamper, Tracks and my second femme Flareup the next sparklings. Kup still processes our first two are the best of the lot. And you would never guess who I partnered with after that."

"Ultra Magnus?" He asked, half-afraid of the answer.

"Pit no! He is my nearest clan member and your brother. Though not spark brother like Megatron but still Optimus. How could you suggest him?" Her glare would have sent other Autobots fleeing and Decepticons reaching for their guns. Her sparkmate ignored it; having seen it directed his way before during their long relationship.

"Just saying," the ancient warrior used the human phrase, wondering what else might apply in this situation. 'She has a bun in the oven but it's not your recipe,' or 'she's not your girlfriend, it's just your turn,' and 'I'm mated not single mech fated.'

The femme sipped at her energon before lowering the cube, twirling it gently in her hands. Emptied, Elita placed it on the desk in front of her and waited for his response.

"You could have warned me," he grumbled, finally saying something.

"What? Hot Rod and Arcee are my sparklings and could you watch after them please since Shockwave keeps trying to offline them?"

"To weaken our forces?"

"More payback because I refused his every offer to mate," she shrugged, her tone nonchalant.

"He's a Decepticon!"

"And the personality of a dry gear. Not my type at all. Need more personality than that. Arcee inherited my taste in mechs apparently," she commented.

"Wait! Isn't Hot Rod?" He sputtered, his connections working faster finally.

"I was referring to the mech Springer. Arcee knows I'm her parental femme and his but he doesn't. She has refused Hot Rod's every request for her companionship without telling him the reason. There is no way this side of the Matrix she would ever be anything but a friend, no matter how hard he tries to be more."

"That's warped!" He protested.

"No, smart. Springer is positively jealous and chasing her now that Hot Rod has shown an interest. It's good for a femme to keep a mech hooked," Elita grinned before continuing naming her sparklings and the parental mechs. Proudly she listed off their accomplishments, secretly pleased at how many had made it onto combat teams without any bot knowing their true parentage.

Leaving the room that evening, Optimus nodded at his troops, saying not a word other than to issue the command to return to earth.

**EARTH**

**MT ST HILLARY, ARK CRASH SITE**

The entire return trip, from the fight back through the spacebridge and the drive to the crashed base of the Ark Optimus remained silent. Not even the nine femmes accompanying them back got a word out of him. They mistook Elita remaining on Cybertron the reason for the lack of conversation. Transforming up to his bi pedal mode, he leaned against the rock wall, trying to reconcile his conflicting emotions.

"Prime, you okay? Been awful quiet," Ironhide stayed behind with Ratchet as the other mechs and femmes rolled past to disappear down the long sloping entryway. The red armored warrior felt torn between joining his newly arrived mate Chromia in his, now their, recharge quarters and staying with his oldest friend as Ratchet checked him out.

"Elita, she...she..." Optimus began.

"Elita? This concerns her," Ratchet encouraged, gesturing with his hands. His enhanced optics spun faster, medically scanning the other down to his internal struts.

"She...is...she...is."

"Spit it our junior," Ironhide commanded.

"She...sparkling..."

"Congratulations! You old bot you!" Ironhide crowed, slapping the mech hard enough on his shoulder plate to stumble Optimus to the side.

Irritated, the ancient Prime growled, pulling away. "It's not mine." The sudden silence was deafening.

"You're not the?" Ratchet asked, the first to recover and share a quick look with Ironhide.

"No."

"Who? I'll slag him," Ironhide growled.

"Not possible. Fifteen," Optimus vented deeply, wiping down his faceplates with his hand.

"Fifteen? Never heard of him. He a far descendant of Trion or something?" Ratchet puzzled.

"Ain't gonna matter. I'll slag him past the outer rings," Ironhide's optics shimmered with specks of red.

"No, Elita sparked fifteen different sparklings while we were apart," Optimus admitted.

"Dang! Was he a breeding machine or what? All that time you two were apart but still!" Ratchet whistled, his medical processor wanting to get that mechs system codes for research. Or an upgrade to his own systems.

"No, she spark merged with at least ten different mechs to get those fifteen!" Optimus roared, his deep baritone shaking the surrounding rock. Small pebbles broke free, rolling down the hillside to bounce near their feet pads.

Both mechs jaw gears failed, their lower plates dropping as the number sunk in. By the time their processors had reengaged sufficiently to ask a question, their leader had left, stalking down the entryway and back to his private recharge quarters. The door entry flashed red with the clearly displayed message do not disturb the occupant within no matter what. A single black and white mech took the chance four hours later, calculating the odds of weapons fire less likely than the need to check on mech that was his boss.

:: Prime Sir? Is there anything you need assistance with?:: Prowl sent over their internal comm frequency.

A thousand lines of code ran past processors but his dignity, what remained that was, held firm. Optimus rose to his feet pads, silently crossing the distance to the main door, sliding it back. "No Prowl. I'll work on the reports tomorrow."

"Yes sir. I will be off comm for about half a joor tonight. Use the emergency frequency if you need me. I might take a moment to respond," Prowl instructed, his black and white wing doors relaxing to the sides.

"Why? Working on work?" Not the most intelligent question or phrasing he reflected.

"I have scheduled personal alone time with femme Beta Nine," his second in command answered accompanied by the sudden kicking up of his cooling fans as Prowl's optics suddenly found a spot on the hallway floor mesmerizing.

"Ah, I see. Good night then," Optimus wished him, jealous for half an astro second. The door slid shut, freeing the mech without as the mech within groaned softly, empty rooms providing no comfort. Lying on the extra wide berth, he considered hacking it apart with swords then vented again, rolling over onto his front. Crossing his arms, Optimus dipped his helm inside the darkened space, the finial tips of his side antennas resting on the armored metal. The same audios detecting the faint sounds of mech deep laughter and a femme's high-pitched squeal from the adjoining quarters. "Ratchet and Moonracer," he identified, rolling onto his side. Another mech would have listened in, pleasuring his own chassis into overload from the echoes of their shared pleasures. Prime merely turned off his audios, giving them privacy as he had done many times before.

"Is every mech partnered except me?" He wondered, feeling more defeated than the last time Megaton had smashed his damaged chassis down into the mud then stood on it. Hours later, recharge finally claimed him, the morning buzzer of his alarm ignored as Optimus' fist smashed the small device flat.

"Too early. And for what," he grumbled, both optics spinning open. "Reports, human complaints and the smirks of my mechs from the nights they shared. Primus this existence sucks. No pretty femme to wake next to." His memory replayed the night before, Firestar passing him in the hallway outside his rooms. He nodded a greeting at orange and yellow armored femme, pretending not to notice the way her pace slowed as her upper body twisted back his way, her optics locking onto the movement of his aft and long legs.

"Still can get a femme's attention at least. Look and not touch," he muttered, shifting to hang his feet off the side of the berth. Blue optics blazed as the idea blossomed. "Touch? Pit! I can grab and sling any femme to my berth now! Fifteen sparklings? Femme, I can outdo that score any day. Or blow my spark trying. Now, who is first femme to get some Prime action?"

_To be continued..._


End file.
